


How To Say Goodbye

by Itisthefirstdayofnovember



Category: Original Work
Genre: tw suicide etc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24890929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itisthefirstdayofnovember/pseuds/Itisthefirstdayofnovember
Summary: Just the midnight ramblings of a hobbyist author.
Kudos: 2





	How To Say Goodbye

When my phone rings, it’s 2:39am. 

When I rush out the door, it’s 2:43am. 

When I step out of the car, it’s 3:01 am.

“ **Where is she**?” I shout frantically across the driveway to my best friend’s mother. The ice in the pit of my stomach grows colder by the second. The moment I heard that soft voice on the other end of the line beg me to come to the house, I knew what had happened. But still, I wished. Still, I prayed.

I run into the house to see her father in tears at the kitchen table. My own eyes burn, and I blink quickly, moments from breaking down. I scan the room anxiously, noticing a small envelope with my name scrawled on the front lying on the table. My breath catches, and my heart breaks a little more. 

“This was found…” she stops, voice breaking. Struggling to maintain some semblance of composure, she holds the paper out toward me. 

I take a deep breath, my breath shaking. The letter lies rigid and unforgiving in my hands. “I’m so sorry about what happened. I can’t...” I shake my head, trying to hold myself together. “I think… I’m sorry, I can’t stay… I really am…sorry.”

Her mother wipes her tears. “I understand,” she whispers. “Please let us know that you’re okay,” she entreats me, with only slight desperation evident in her voice. I murmur a vague affirmation and escape the despair of her parents, shoving the envelope in my pocket. 

Twenty minutes later, I stumble into my house and flick the light on. No one awaits to comfort me. She’s _gone_. 

“ ** _WHY?_** ” 

I scream into the silence. The adrenaline wears off a bit, and a grief that swallows me appears instead. Through the agony, a small, logical part of me is glad I’m not driving. 

My head spins— I can’t slow my breathing. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. 

I struggle to think around the panic threatening to drown me. My body doesn’t obey me: I can’t get my eyes to focus or my hands to stop shaking. She'd been my best friend since middle school, by my side through everything, and now she was gone.

We were inseparable, she seventeen and me just turned eighteen. I remember her jealousy that I could vote before she could. I remember the water balloon fights, the breakdowns over classes, the sleepovers, the FaceTimes and DIY hair dye _._ I remember her laughter, the real laughter when she finally let down her guard, the lopsided sincere smiles. I remember her hand in mine, the warm, safe hugs, and the tentative kisses. I remember everything.

I'll never have any of it again. 

Rage burns against the pain, and I throw the letter across the room bitterly. Clutching my _Best Friends_ bracelet, a memento we bought together after senior year, I wrap my arms around my knees, and close my eyes. _It's all just a nightmare. I'll wake up. You'll be there tomorrow, laughing as you make fun of me. You'll be there. I need you to be there, alive, smiling with open arms._

_I need you._

~ * ~

I sign with a flourish, artfully mimicking calligraphy that I don’t know. _Cassandra._ I like my name. It’s one of the few things I genuinely appreciate about myself. 

Wishing for once that I was crying, I curse the numbness that I can’t seem to overcome. My hands fold the paper in a memorized routine, edge over edge until it forms an origami bird, a flat figure I slip into the envelope. I imprint it with my favorite wax stamp. The seal was a gift from my best friend, who shared my obsession with quills instead of ballpoints, wax over paper stamps. It was an interest kindled by _Harry Potter._ Today, however, the wolf stares back at me accusingly, curling his lip at my dramatic flair.

_Don’t I deserve a little drama in a situation like this?_

I bite my tongue, hesitating before I tuck the paper into the blazer hanging on my closet door. My fingers brush the letter already inside and my breath catches. _Why can’t I stop hurting everyone I care about? Why am I not good enough, why can’t I fix this?_

 _You've been trying to make it better. And this is how you're going to do it._ The spiraling thoughts do nothing to calm me. But they're true. I have been trying, for years. I never wanted this. I wanted my best friend, and my future, and my ride on the beach that I'll never have. But my mind has a way of twisting those wishes, making them evaporate next to the one, final wish for escape. 

~ * ~

I glance at the scribbled words on the page, the first draft of a poem. Writing is my way of coping, equal parts release and reality, it soothes and stokes the pain. My journals are stained with exploded pens and tear drops, hiding my secrets in a locked, leather bound book. I wear the key around my neck "for an aesthetic". No one knows what it's for. No one cares.

Editing my work is difficult, as my knowledge of English often clashes with the emotional purpose of the piece. Besides, I think the last lines in this one are fine as they are.

_“Depression is not selfish. It is apologizing for everything you say, every move you make, every moment you exist. Because you’re a burden. Because you’re weak. Because you’re a waste of time, of space, of breath.”_

_“It is the voice in your head that whispers ‘you’d be better off dead’, and it is the moment when you believe it.”_

~ * ~

Tying the plait in my hair, I button the navy coat and zip my black boots. _Ironic, isn’t it, that I’ve admired myself in the mirror so many times in this outfit, and now I can’t even look._ Choosing accessories carefully, I wear both my astrological sign around my neck and my _Best Friends_ silver bracelet across my wrist.

Sitting behind the wheel once again, I roll down my windows for the swift summer breeze. Music blares in my car. I suppose I want to overwhelm my senses in the hope that it might make up for what I’ll never feel again. 

I relish the foreign serenity that has settled within my body. By any accounts, I should be very present, but my mind is far away. I play snippets of my life over and over like a tape, memorizing the sound of my mother calling my name, the warmth of my best friend’s arms as she hugs me, the love in my dog’s eyes as he stares at me. I’ll miss those things. 

For a second, my resolve wavers. I slow the car, scrubbing a hand across my face. _If you really care about them, you won’t be a coward anymore. You drag them down with you negativity and your complaining, you ruin their happiness with your lack of it. They are kind to you, but you don't deserve it, they should have their lives free from your pessimistic attitude and awkward, anxious self. The midnight texts, the desperation, the need for constant reassurance. They deserve better, and while you're alive, you haven't been able to fix it._

Drawing my mind back to reality, I reach the parking lot. It’s less conspicuous without a car. Cursing and blessing my anonymity, I begin walking. Nobody notices a lonely pedestrian walking alone toward a bridge. Nobody notices anything until it hits the news. 

I brush my thumb over the envelope in my hands and tuck it into the pocket of my blazer. Then, I slip the jacket off and fold it neatly behind me. It will be found soon enough. 

My head spins as I turn toward the edge. With shaking hands and a pounding heart, I attempt to steady my nerves with a deep breath. Walking stepping around the pathetic excuse for a railing, I hesitate only for a moment. A rush of sudden certainty fills my mind, but my instincts are screaming to reach for something, anything, to stop me. Time slows. I picture everything I’ve lost and everything I’m losing one last time.

“I’m sorry. I loved you; I _love_ you _.”_ I whisper aloud to the wind, hoping that wherever they are, they'll understand. 

Then, panic. Regardless of my intentions, my body scrambles for a way to stop itself. I am conscious of my arms flailing, but I can’t direct them with any purpose. Wind whips through my hair. Blood roars in my ears. 

And yet, as I fall, I don’t feel the regret they said I would. 

~ * ~

Waking to see the sun rise, the events of the night before settle in as more real, more concrete. My begging did nothing, my cries and hopes ignored. She wasn't ever coming back. I stare into the pale pink sky and curse it with every ounce of my strength. _A sunrise. Nice trade. Nice fucking trade._

Taking a deep breath, I get up to retrieve the letter from the where it had slipped under the dishwasher. Collapsing into a chair, I open the envelope. Creased, folded pages of handwritten text fall onto the table beside me. I unfold the paper slowly, both dreading and desperate to read what she had written.

Lili, 

I love you.

Read that, and read it again, and again. I love you. You are my best friend and nothing will ever take that away. 

I never wanted you be hurt. I know, it's late for that. But please trust that I never meant to cause you any pain, or suffering, or grief. You have meant the world to me since we became friends, and you are the most important person in my life. I loved being with you, watching movies, laughing, playing Cards Against Humanity and Red Flags. I loved taking classes with you, the midnight calls while we struggled through high school APs. I remember the day we met, and the last time I saw you. The very first time we were so young, so innocent. You sat with me at lunch, the first person to intrude on my solitude in years. And ever since that day, you have kept me company in my loneliness. 

From childish complaints to the claws of depression, you've sat by my side. I remember our first summer vacation, the fun sleepover and pathetic gossip. High school was our glory and downfall, the number of breakdowns equal between us. But no matter what happened, there was always you. I remember our very first kiss, when you were out and proud, and I was terrified. I still don't know exactly what we were, but I know that I loved you more than anything I ever had. 

I want to apologize for the times I've hurt you, now and in the past. I know I'm not good with apologies, and I didn't offer them as much as I should have, but I would like to do that now. I know I was arrogant, and stubborn, and sarcastic, and quite frankly, a bitch sometimes. I know my anxiety made me text you incessantly, and call you at 2am, and beg you to answer me when all that happened was your phone died. I know the depression drained you like it drained me, I know the constant fear towards the end hurt. I'm sorry. I tried my best to minimize the impact it would have on you, but you always brought me back no matter how much I pushed you away. You loved me like I loved you, and you showed me time and time again.

I also want to tell you that this isn't your fault. You're weren't responsible for holding my life in your hands, and you weren't responsible for the decisions I've made. I appreciate you more than you could know, and the nights you talked me to sleep are imprinted on my heart. But I can't have you blaming yourself. I can't have you following me. I know you're capable of such amazing things in life, I know you're intelligent and kind and loyal. I know you love STEM, and theatre, and pranking your friends. You just repainted your bedroom and I was the first person you told, your birthday is April 5th, you're an only child. You've dyed your hair blue and told me how impossible it is to get out. You've stood by me when we fought our school against racism, and you celebrated when we were accepted into our dream schools. We would have been roommates. 

I'm sorry I'll never get to experience college beside you, and be your lab partner through med school. I'm sorry I'll never get to go to your plays and be the first to get an autograph, or kiss you in full makeup. I'm sorry you won't see me ride my horse, you'll never get to go to a show with me again. I'm sorry for everything we'll never get to do. I truly am. I wanted this, I wanted my life, I wanted to live life with you. I'm sorry. Don't regret what you did with me, don't spend your time agonizing over every conversation, obsessing over your choice of words, regretting the fights. I love you, and you're one of the only reasons I haven't done this earlier. Don't think of this as your failure. You did everything right, you were perfect.

But please do promise me, you'll take care of yourself. Don't forget to eat, you need it. You can't live on coffee and willpower forever. Keep drawing, keep painting, know that your art is beautiful. Take showers and bubble baths, and for gods sake, get up on time for your classes. Send your playlist of emo music to the whole fucking school, fight the racism and discrimination until you've won. I know you can. Complete college, become a doctor, _save lives._ And the little things, watch the sunrises, and the rainbows, and the moon. Take trips around the world, visit all the places on the map you made as a child, learn as you go, have fun. Swim with dolphins, practice Latin, complete your bucket list to every last letter. I will never forget the sound of laughter or the glow of your smile, and neither should the world.

Lillian Mae, owner of two cats, brilliant artist, lover of math, talented linguist, my best friend, and my love. _Live._ Promise me you will keep living, enough life for both of us.

I love you.

Cassandra Rose


End file.
